


don't blame me, love made me crazy

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, I have no self control obviously, Modern AU, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Updates Will Be Slow, Zutara, and also no sense of decency, but what else is new with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: ...in which Zuko is recently divorced and definitely not looking for love, then Katara finds him.





	1. doesn't that make me... off-limits?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko meets a girl in a bar and things start off with... a bang (lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a drabble in which Zuko meets Katara in a bar and things happen (that somehow turned into a story).

A thousand poor decisions have landed him here, the epitome being his fifth shot of tequila and not even sucking a lime to chase after it.

Zuko grimaces at the slinking warmth in his chest and slams the shot glass down on the bar top. There's a raucous cheer from some guy with a mess of spiky hair. A girl who calls herself Smellerbee wags at the bartender to order him another.

"Mmm— n-no," Zuko slurs, shaking his head in a way that's hardly convincing.

Honestly, nothing sounds better than getting stupidly drunk and fucking some college-age chick. He won't even have to remember her name.

But, it's been ten years since he's graduated and Zuko doubts anyone will dig a recent divorcee who's too young to have slivers of grey around his temples. Plus, he has to piss in a bad way. 

Zuko says no again, firmer this time, and struggles from his chosen barstool to find the toilets.

He decides he was right to refuse. He's dizzy as hell. The lights overhead are spinning; the faces around him are a blur. Someone has a vice-grip on his arm.

He's wrenched around, swearing under his breath when he comes face to face with a blue-eyed woman. Her nose might come up to his sternum, but with her arms crossed and the writhing bodies on the dance floor acting as her backdrop, Zuko's a tiny bit afraid.

"Excuse me!" Her voice carries over the music, her brows creasing so intensely the gap between them all but vanishes.

Zuko blinks at her. She's so shockingly gorgeous it hurts. He doesn't know where to focus: her eyes, her lips, the chestnut skin that disappears into a low-cut red dress. Why is someone so pretty be so angry?

The woman seems to take his silence as stupidity; her bright, blue eyes roll up to the ceiling, then back to him.

"Will you move? Please? I'm trying to order a drink, but you and your..." Her gaze slides to the left, drifting over the rift-rafts he's befriended, "...drinking buddies are hogging the bar."

Zuko finds his voice, "S-sorry, uh—"

He shakes his head, this time trying to clear the fogginess from his thoughts, but it's not the alcohol anymore. Now, he's stuck on the shape of her hips and her legs, how all of her is taut and lean and her ass is probably the best in the bar.

When his gaze travels back up, Zuko thinks that her hair is doing her a million favors, down and wavy and the color of chocolate, but he might like it in a bun. He'd be able to see her neck and her collarbones, and if they made their way into the sweaty crowd, he could kiss all the exposed skin; he could suckle the pulse below her ear and make her moan.

Zuko finds her eyes again. She's glaring.

"If you're going to stare at me like you want to eat me, you have to buy me a drink."

"What? I- I wasn't—" 

"You weren't staring?"

"No, I—" She's trapped him, right up against a wall. Well, in this case, it's the bar top. The lip digs into his back, telling him there's no escape. "I just got divorced."  

"So... that excuses creepy staring?"  She doesn't let up, but there's a smile in her eyes.

"No, it—" Zuko huffs and rubs the back of his neck. "Doesn't that make me off-limits?"

The woman laughs, "Did all your paperwork go through?"

"Last week," he says, a touch of bitterness, a touch of freedom, mixing in his tone. Zuko licks his lips. Her eyes are flirty now, and his new freedom wins out. "Wouldn't you say I'm emotionally compromised? Damaged goods? Forbidden fruit?"

"I'd say you're funny," she quips. "Then, I'd ask, are you always this funny?"

Zuko gives her a quirky grin. He doesn't quite know what to make of the compliment, if it is a compliment. The way she's looking at him makes him hope it is, but he can't help one more warning.

"I can't commit."

"What makes you think I want commitment?"

"Uh..." His shoulders lift with a half-hearted shrug, "Past experiences?"

She smirks and all she says in response: "My name's Katara, you can call me Kat, and I'm a present experience."

"Zuko."

"Lovely to meet you, Zuko. Now, if you can get through your damaged fruit nonsense, my table's over there." Katara nods to a secluded booth, where a couple is cozied up. "Please be my Prince Charming and save me from this third wheel life."

* * *

An hour later, Katara's starting her third margarita and Zuko's thrown his arm around her shoulders, a glass of whiskey in his free hand.

He likes the way her hair tickles his skin, the way she leans into his ribs like she's known him for years. She's soft and warm with him, inviting him into her conversation and her life.

The couple sharing their booth is her brother and his fiancee, who chatter amiably about everything from the last Seahawks game to Biden memes. Whenever something comes up that Zuko doesn't understand, Katara will put her lips to his ear and whisper the answer.

Sokka pretends to retch every time Katara does this; Suki jabs him in the side. Zuko learns that they dragged her out that night; it's a bid to get her own failed relationship off her mind. 

Not that the enamored couple makes it easy. When they aren't talking, they're kissing. Or they're just so completely engrossed in the other's eyes that Katara can't get a word in edgewise. 

"They're disgusting, aren't they?" Katara mocks her brother's gagging sounds, then takes a sip of her drink as she settles under Zuko's arm. "Can't keep it together for five seconds without going all _'coochie-coochie-coo'_ on each other."

"Um, we do not sound like that," Sokka snaps back, winking.

Suki only laughs. Maybe she knows Katara is right. Maybe she has no real argument since her arms are still around Sokka's muscled neck and she's pulling him back for another kiss.

"I'm a little needy when I'm drunk," she mumbles, her words muffled by Sokka's lips. "Don't hate me."

"Oh, I could never hate you. You're too pretty to—"

Sokka carries on, but Katara's pulled Zuko's attention from the display.

"Take me dancing."

She announces it, which Zuko admires. Her bright eyes don't leave him any room to question her; her smile is playful and seductive. He thinks she might get him into trouble, but he throws the last of his drink back anyway and pulls her into the crowd.

Surrounded by writhing bodies and thumping bass, Zuko realizes she is trouble. Suddenly, the idea of a twenty-something crammed into the bathroom stall with him doesn't sound nearly as fun as taking Katara home and making out on his couch for hours.

After he's memorized her lips, he could spend another hour undressing her, learning every inch of her skin. He'd kiss her neck, lick her breasts, nip at her hips. He'd keep going until his head's between her legs and she's shaking.

Zuko wonders what sounds she'd make, what she'd smell like, taste like; if it'd be a lot like this—

They sway in the middle of the floor, pressed together by a dozen other couples. As cramped as they are, there's too much space between them.

He pulls Katara closer by grabbing her hips. She wraps her arms around his neck. The music rumbles through their limbs, thundering in their bones. It draws them into a rhythm.

She moves, and he follows. She tugs his hair, and he groans. She rakes her fingers down his back, and Zuko mirrors it. His hands play on the small of her back, holding her flush to him. His hips copy the pattern she makes, side-to-side, little figure eights.

It's been years since he's lusted so intensely, but Katara has him aching. His lips beg to taste her, his fingers make pleas to touch every part of her. His cock's hard and throbbing against his thigh, compressed too tight by denim jeans. His veins feel full of molten gold.

Her skin's covered in an iridescent sheen, catching the flash of blue and purple lights. Zuko turns her around, telling himself it's for his own good because he's going to lose himself in her stare; but really, he wants her ass moving on him, he wants to brush her hair away from her neck and nip along her shoulder blade.

Katara moans when he does. She dances harder, twists and winds and rolls with the endless beat.

She must know, she must have some clue how badly he wants her; her mouth curls with the hint of a smile, her head falls back, resting on his shoulder as they move, her eyes devour him. She could be a goddess or some irresistible demon here to drag him to his demise. Zuko wouldn't know the difference; he's damned either way.

He flattens a hand on her stomach. It’s toned in a way that makes him want to strip her naked; soft in a way that makes him want to kiss down her navel. Katara brings her arm up and around his neck. Then, he doesn't care about the way they met or the bodies closing in on them. Zuko holds her tight to him, cups her chin. Katara turns into him, and their lips meet in a fevered rush. 

Salt. Lime. Tequila. Zuko finds all the flavors on her tongue, and underneath, something sweet and intoxicating. It must be the way her skin tastes, the way her cunt tastes.

He groans, the sound building in his chest, spilling into her mouth. All he wants is that taste. He'd beg her for it.

Breaking the kiss, he breathes her in. Then pants, "Come home with me."

"Mmm," Katara purrs. It makes his balls feel tight. "You're making demands now?"  

Zuko laughs, but it gives way to something akin to a desperate plea. _"Will_ you come home with me?"

Her eyes are as dark as midnight. She bites her lip, and Zuko wants to bite it harder, but he waits— waits for her to lift on the tips of her toes, waits for her to nip at his ear and send shivers down his spine when she whispers:

"Can you hold out that long, Prince Charming?"

* * *

Zuko grips her hand as they stumble out to his car. There’s no way in hell he’s driving the fifteen minutes back to his flat; he needs his jacket and briefcase if he’s going to leave the Charger at the bar. 

But, as soon as he unlocks the doors, Katara is the one who can’t wait. 

She fists his shirt, tugs him down into a wild, sloppy kiss. Her fingers splay on the car behind her, searching for the handle. When she finds it, Katara pulls him into the back seat.

 _God…_ he had every intention of getting her home, showering her with attention until the sun came up… But, holy fuck, with her dress bunched up around her waist, with her panties pushed aside and his fingers playing at her slit, he doesn’t remember where he lives.

Zuko yanks the dress’s straps off her shoulders with his free hand. His tongue traces around her nipple while his fingers circle her clit. Katara mewls, moans, moves against the heel of his palm and coaxes his fingers inside her.

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he hisses through his teeth. One finger, then two, and three— Katara rolls her hips, fucks herself on his hand, throws her head back and croons his name. Zuko can’t think of anything better.

She’s hot and tight; he fumbles around for his wallet, pulls his fingers from her to rip open a condom.

“No…” Katara whines at the loss of contact. She grinds in his lap, and he can feel how soaking wet she is through his jeans. His cock _hurts._

Together, with desperate pants fogging the windows, they undo his belt and his fly and Zuko’s boxers are jerked down past his hips. He tries to get the condom down and around his length, but Katara starts with these little fluttering thrusts, tormenting just the tip of his cock.

He grabs her waist and she lifts away, only to work him again by dragging her slick folds up and down him.

“Fuck, _Kat—”_

Zuko gives up any efforts to stop her. He lets her soak him, lets her tease him; she gets herself so close to the edge— he feels like he’s going to come, too— that she’s shaking above him.

“Come here,” he all but growls. Zuko pushes her off him and onto her back. She’s smirking, smirking like she’s proud of herself for getting around his resolve and getting him half-undressed in the backseat.

He rolls the condom on, hovering over her with half a smile on his lips. “You’re a fucking vixen.”

“Am I?” Katara reaches up. She trails her fingers from his sternum to his stomach, then strokes his cock once before cupping his balls. “Is that why you can’t stop staring at me tonight?”

Zuko laughs, “Shut up,” then sinks into her slowly, until she’s gasping his name and his hips are flush with hers. He can’t breathe, but he manages to pull back, to thrust hard, to moan into her neck. “God… you fucking—”

Katara rakes her nails up his back, leaving goosebumps everywhere her fingers go. She cords through his hair, tugging his head up so she can kiss him. 

Against his lips, she hisses, “I’m a vixen, I know.” 

He all but falls apart after that. They fuck hard and fast, rocking the car, leaving handprints on the windows and bruises on each other’s skin. Zuko comes with a quiet moan and Katara follows, her hips hitching erratically with his and her heart beating a rapid pace into his chest.

Zuko goes lax, lays his head down her breasts and listens as Katara catches her breath. It’s not long before she does, and she tickles his back with feather-light touches.

He likes it. He wants more of it, and he wants to touch her, too, innocently and affectionately.

“You’ll still come over,” Zuko says, before he can bite his tongue, “right?”

“I thought you couldn’t commit? Something about forbidden limits?”

“It was off-limits and forbidden fruit,” he snorts, “but I can commit for a damn night.” 

Katara kisses his hair. “Commit through breakfast, and you’ll have a deal.” 

“I think I can manage that.”

He pulls away from her and Katara smiles. It’s so pretty and sweet, like she’s excited for the extra time. Zuko doesn’t let his thoughts go any further than that— a sleepover, a second and third round, a cup of coffee and waffles; but somewhere, in the back of his mind, Zuko thinks he could commit for life. 


	2. It’s… not quite a confession.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko has some kind of thing for the girl from the bar, but he would rather let his ex-wife hit him with a bus than ask her on a date. fortunately, that girl has no qualms about boldness.

His bed is warm and he’s not alone, which makes it impossible for Zuko to do anything except lay still with his eyes closed. Or try. It’s been a while since he’s woken up beside someone, curled up and close; he wants to savor it.

But, as surely as the early sunlight trickling through the blinds, awareness begins to trickle into his limbs. There’s a heaviness in his breath, a satisfied weariness. His arms have the faintest tremor to them from holding Katara’s weight while he fucked her in his entryway. When he shifts, Zuko senses a slight ache in his hips from the hour they spent wrecking his sheets at 3AM.

_ One more time, _ she whispered, settling on top of him.  _ Can you?  _

He remembers hissing at the feel of her grinding on him, his body responding, cock hardening as his hands slid up to her breasts. _ I don’t have any condoms left. _

_ I’ve been tested. _

_ Birth control? _

_ IUD. _ Katara leaned forward, arms framing his head, lips seeking his. The next roll of her hips had his cock buried deep in her sex. She hummed through her next breath. _ I  _ knew  _ you’d feel good like this. _

Stretching his legs, Zuko does his best not to linger on the memories. He said he wasn’t going to commit, not past breakfast anyway, but there’s a familiar throb in his balls and he can’t help it. 

God, she was good; so  _ fucking  _ good. Demanding, but unselfish. Rough, but only in the best of ways. She moaned his name like he was some kind of god. When he laid her down and fulfilled his wish of burying his face in her cunt, she tasted like heaven. 

Three times. Nine orgasms between them. Four and ten, if Zuko counts the hot-and-heavy romp in his car. 

He does. It was quick, over before he really wanted, but he’ll hold onto that wild, passionate,  _ fun  _ moment until he’s dead.  

Fuck Mai, he thinks. Fuck all her mind games and drama, too. One night in a bar, and he’s actually happy. Sure, it could be fleeting. Maybe he’ll never call Katara back. Maybe she’ll never call him. He’ll wait and see if she still likes him after his (freezer) waffles and (instant) coffee. Maybe she won’t, now that they’re both fully sober, but he finds himself praying she’ll stay, at least ‘til lunch.

She was just so…  _ easy,  _ and not in the sexual sense. Although, sleeping with her had been a great perk. 

Katara was easy to be around, easy to be himself with. She made him laugh and kept him talking all night, asking far more and going far deeper than he expected. Zuko smiles in disbelief at himself. He really has been out of the dating pool awhile, if he’s so quick to catch feelings.

It was just a hookup, he reminds himself. Just sex. 

That doesn’t keep Zuko from wanting more of it, more of her. Pulling his eyes from the ceiling, his gaze wanders over the dream fast asleep beside him. She’s as naked as him still, and she didn't change positions from her side all night. The white sheets accentuate her dark skin; the hem settles neatly in the dip of her waist. Her spine is like tiny dots running down her back. 

Zuko reaches out and follows the line. Then, he slips closer, slips his arm over her waist, and nuzzles her neck. 

Katara startles at his touch, but calms quickly as he caresses her stomach, stretching as she stirs. Her body shapes to his, her back against his chest, ass pressing into his groin. Her blue eyes are hazy when she turns her head to look at him.

“Morning, Charming,” she whispers, groggy and cute.  

He hides his smile behind her shoulder. “Kit Kat.” 

Her laugh is light and airy with sleep, but it doesn’t keep her from directing a pout at him. 

“If you ever call me that again…” 

“No? You don’t like being named after candy? When you’re so sweet?”

“Is that how I taste? Like chocolate and cookie wafers?” 

_ “Mmm…  _ just sweet, really.” Zuko nips the shell of her ear, earning a second protest. 

He’s quick to kiss away the offense, then his lips follow the line of her jaw, humming along with the vibrato of a moan in her throat. When he laps at her pulse, Katara's stomach tenses beneath his palm. Zuko digs his fingers into her taut flesh before dragging his hand up to her hip. There’s bruising; he can’t see it with the sheets covering her, but he feels the faint swelling beneath her skin, remembers the mirrored marks on his own hips. 

His cock twitches against her ass. 

“I could’ve spent hours with my head between your legs....” Zuko whispers. He draws a line down the outside of her thigh, making his way up along the inside. Her knees part for him; Katara’s pliant when he hooks her top leg over his. “...savoring you, sampling me.”  

He stops his ascent right at the top of her thigh. Her skin is damp from last night; the dark curls, too. Zuko makes a meaningless pattern in the leftover dew, making her hitch, pant. 

“You liked it, didn’t you?” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut, fisting the sheets. “Tasting your cum in me?” 

Zuko chuckles, wearing half a smirk. “Too much.”

His kisses her shoulder and moves his fingers just half an inch. The shapes he made on the inside of her leg are now light and feathery, torturous on her clit. Her hips jump forward. His cock aches, insistent. 

At the angle he’s got— her hips lined up with his, her legs open for him, her sex still swollen and wet and throbbing for him— it’d be so easy to sink his cock in her, fill her, fuck her senseless. Zuko fights to control himself, to slow down. Her pleading breaths alone are worth taking his time. 

Zuko uses his leg to spread hers wider, slips a single finger into her knuckle-deep, pumps in and out of her slowly. He half expected her to deter him, given how sensitive she has to be, but Katara quivers. 

She grabs his wrist, ruts against his palm.

“More,” she demands. “Please. I need more.”  

He adds a second finger, meets her thrusts and circles her clit with his thumb. He suckles the pulse below her jaw and dies over how tight she still is. By now, she’s grinding on him, soaking his hand—  _ god _ , how he wishes it was his cock. Her hushed moans turn to cries, sound a lot like his name. There’s curses mixed in; she keeps pleading for more. 

Zuko almost feels bad when he pulls away. Almost. But he’s seconds away from blowing his load on the sheets; he just needs to breathe. 

He leaves a wet trail from her sex to her breasts, circles her nipple until it pebbles up.

“I’d like to cum in you again,” he says into the nape of her neck, “if you’ll let me… maybe have  _ you  _ for breakfast.” 

Katara shivers when he brushes her sternum, lets free a needy sigh when his fingers trace her lips. They part; he can feel her breath and his fingers slip through, met by her tongue. 

“See how addictive you are?”  

Her mouth closes and Katara sucks, sucks with a low moan in her chest, sucks until he’s moaning, too. 

Four times already _.  _ He wants to make it five. Needs to. He’s so hard, practically in pain. Everything Katara does makes it worse, nipping his fingertips, humming around his knuckles. 

She smiles back at him, purring around his fingers.  _ “Mmm… _ you want me.” 

“God, yes. Yes.” 

Zuko pulls his fingers from her mouth and rolls her, props up on his knees behind her. Katara settles forward on her elbows, legs bent beneath her and spread, ass lifted up in the air. It’s a thing of beauty, because he has the best view of her toned cheeks. There’s a handprint from last night, the color of it the same roguish-pink as the glistening folds between her thighs. 

He runs his hands up the backs of her legs, making her tilt her hips slightly. Her fists are balled up in the sheets and her body shakes, squirms for friction while he teases her with the head of his cock. He writes his name on her clit with the tip, barely pushes into her, offers the same fluttery, frustrating thrusts that she offered in his car. 

Then, Zuko dips forward, bracing himself on an elbow and pinning her under him. His lips graze her shoulder blade, ghost up to her cheek until Katara turns her head. 

She steals a kiss; he loves it— 

This way he can taste the lust on her tongue. This way he can lap up every little moan. This way he can swallow the pained sound she makes when he lets his weight go and her body takes his cock. 

Zuko holds his breath. Gasps. _ “Shit.”  _

She’s so warm; she might even be warmer than last night, given how many times he’s had her and how many different ways he’s made her come. It takes all he’s got not to chase his high. He needs to be careful, gentle. He pulls out of her slowly and sinks back in, listening to how wet she is. 

It’s some kind of special torture, letting Katara have him inch-by-agonizing-inch. It feels so good, but his cock hurts so much. 

Zuko grits his teeth, buries his face in the dip of her shoulder, picks up the pace when Katara's quiet mewls turn to pleased sighs, then desperate whines. She grabs his ass with one hand, finds his hand with the other. Her hips lift off the mattress and she moans in time with the sound of skin slapping skin. 

It doesn’t take long after that. He was losing the battle before it even began. Katara’s breathing stops for a second and her body tenses, then his name comes out in a broken chorus. Zuko’s right behind her, losing it as her cunt milks him, his mouth open and a growl coming up from his chest. 

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ , Katara—” He cums in hot rush, his stomach tightening and thrusts devolving into an erratic pattern while he fights to draw it out. 

Then, it’s over. A blissful smile spreads across his face. Zuko slumps on top of Katara, half his body still on top of her, his cock still in her. She laughs shyly when his head hits the pillow in front of her. 

“Tired?” she asks. 

“A little,” he says. “I’m always up at sunrise, but… maybe today will be an exception.”  

Katara blinks in agreement and presses closer, her forehead touching his. It’s a sweet, soothing gesture, one that takes him by surprise considering they were strangers before last night. Still, he relaxes quickly, even lifts his hand and runs his fingers up and down her back. Her eyelids grow heavy, her smile, sleepy. 

“You know,” she murmurs, “if I was the type to like commitment, I think I’d really like you.” 

Zuko laughs quietly, his cheeks heating. It’s… not quite a confession. It doesn’t give away anything she’s feeling, but it’s enough to make him feel  _ something _ . He smiles, and gives her a kiss just before falling back asleep. 

“If I were the type to commit, I think I’d like you, too.”

* * *

 

Zuko wakes up a few hours later to loud rumble in his belly and the smell of breakfast. It’s a few minutes before he figures out what’s happening, and it’s not until he sees the divot in the pillow next to him that he remembers. 

_ Katara. _

His heart beats a little too hard. 

He puts a hand on his chest, willing it to slow, then throws the covers off. He swings his legs off the bed, stands up, collects his pajama pants from the rug— _ goddamn, _ his pulse is still thundering. Zuko glances in the mirror above his dresser and curses himself. 

It was just a one-stand night. It was just sex. He was married to a witch for ten years; he should have a hundred nights like this to make up for it. 

Funny though, reminding himself for the second time how brief this’ll all be doesn’t make his heart listen. 

Something Sokka said pops into his head, about how he met Suki in a dojo and it was all over for him after one date. He knew. That was it; he knew. They’ve been together ever since. 

Could Katara be Zuko’s dojo date? 

No. _ Absolutely not _ . He can’t feel anything for her. He can’t be all dreamy and doey-eyed after one night. Sokka and Suki were different. They didn’t have pounds of baggage hanging off them and ex-spouses sitting in the shadows. Even if Katara wanted him, everyone would just assume she’s a rebound. 

Is she a rebound? It that what last night was? 

_ Fuck _ . He’s only known her for five minutes, but he’s knows she deserves more than that.

Zuko rakes his fingers through his cropped hair and digs around the disheveled bed for his phone. Finding it, he shoots off a text to his uncle, saying he’ll be by the Jasmine Dragon later. He needs advice— he catches a whiff of waffles and his stomach growls again—  _ and breakfast. _

Tossing his phone back on the bed, Zuko ventures to his kitchen. Music’s playing softly. He thinks he recognizes Ariana Grande, which makes him blush because Side to Side was the first song he and Katara danced along to last night. She’s moving with the beat now, spinning around the white, marble island in one of his button-downs and his socks, singing off key. 

How fucking cute. He forces himself not to imagine this as his usual morning routine.

Waffle mix slops into a sizzling iron. Katara closes the top and flips it over, finally noticing him. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” she says. “This kitchen looks like it belongs on HGTV and I had to touch... everything.” 

“Including my Spotify, I see.” There’s a smile in his voice. 

“Oh, was that supposed to be off-limits? You might want to tell your Alexa not to take orders from strange women.” 

He laughs wholeheartedly, which he’s learning isn’t unusual with her. It’s just new for him. He likes it, though, likes how simple things are and how Katara seems to get him. Laughing may not be his forte, but sarcasm certainly is. 

Zuko pads further into the kitchen, brushes his hand down her back as he passes her by for the coffee. “I guess you’re right. I can’t really blame Alexa,” he says, more to his mug than her. “It’s not like strange women frequent the place.” 

“No?” Katara asks. 

Zuko swallows a sip, decides he wants cream, and sets the coffee down on the counter before answering, “My sister and her girlfriend like to have movie nights here. And, I get a lot of visits from my mom.” 

“That’s really sweet.” 

Katara smiles; it looks genuine and real, but Zuko isn’t entirely positive. He did just admit that his mother comes over regularly, which is probably the least attractive thing a fully grown man can say. That, or it’s too serious and Katara said she doesn’t want serious. 

His lips press together.  _ Slow down. Slow down. _ Zuko opens the fridge, hiding his perturbed expression.

“Not that you sound like any of them,” he tries joking. He scans the shelves for the Coffee-Mate and finds it, along with a carton of strawberries (this’ll go better if he keeps his hands busy). Zuko sets the items on the island with the bottles of syrup and whipped cream.  “I’m just saying, Alexa probably assumed you were one and the same, seeing how I have zero game.”

“You got me here, didn’t you?” 

“Sheer luck.” 

Katara shrugs. “Maybe.” 

The waffle iron beeps, stealing her blue eyes away from his for the moment. Katara flips the machine to stop the high-pitched shrieking, then grabs a fork as she opens the hot plates. She stabs the steaming waffle, tossing it onto a plate, and pours in the second.

Once it’s counting down another four minutes, Katara tucks her hair behind her ears and gaze returns to him, curious.  

“So… I’m the first woman you’ve had over since your divorce?” 

The question takes him by surprise. It’s deeply personal, but somehow... not. He feels comfortable with her. He doesn’t suspect any ill-intent either, just interest. 

He nods, albeit slowly. “Since my wife left, actually. It’s been,  _ uh… _ ” Zuko rubs his jaw, trying to remember the last time Mai had stepped foot in the sleek, downtown Seattle apartment. “About a year, I’d say. That’s when shit really hit the fan and she moved out. I just… couldn’t see anyone, not when I was technically married. It seemed unfair to everyone involved.”  

“That’s wise. Any kids?” 

He shakes his head. “I’d like to have one. Someday.” 

“Me too,” Katara smiles at him. “Maybe a whole brood.” 

Zuko’s lips curl, too. He holds her look for a while, lost somewhere in his thoughts.  _ If he’d met her sooner. If he’d never gotten married. If he’d chased happiness instead of what his father wanted.  _ He blushes when he realizes he’s been staring. He was supposed to keep his hands busy.  _ Dammit. _

He grabs a knife and cutting board, and flips the top off the strawberry carton. Hopefully he can keep the attention on her, now, and his mind away from stupid, silly things like real dates and remarrying. He has always been a hopeless romantic.  

Zuko slices the tops from the strawberries, flicking the leafy portion towards the sink, then cuts the fruit into thin pieces.

“What’s your story, then?” he asks. 

Katara waves him off. “Oh, it’s nothing exciting. Single. Thirty. Plastic surgeon.” 

“You’re a surgeon? That’s not exciting?”

“Oh no, it is! I’m really interested in trauma,” Katara explains. “Right now I’m researching new ways to treat burns, particularly in war torn areas where equipment is in short supply. I love it; trying to make a difference, helping people.” 

Her eyes are bright, but Zuko senses a  _ but _ . Her shoulders sag with a sigh. There it is. He frowns as he listens. 

“But, sometimes it’s stressful. The hours are hard on relationships; I was in a pretty serious one, too. He was a younger guy, I met him my senior year of college. Really sweet, until he wasn’t.” 

The waffle iron sounds again, cutting her off. Katara retrieves her fork and works on extracting it while she talks. “He gave me loads of grief, from med school all the way to the end of my residency. When I got a fellowship here, he wasn’t even happy for me.” 

Zuko’s brows shoot up. “Not at all?” 

“His only concern was how how far away I’d be, how long it would take me…” Katara trails off, shaking her head with an irritated huff. 

She gets Zuko’s waffle on a plate, smears hers with butter, and slides the dinnerware across the island towards the stools. He finishes with the strawberries and grabs them each a fork, plus his coffee. Balancing it all in hand, Zuko slips onto the barstool beside her.

“I broke up with him a year ago,” she says, helping him set everything down without spilling, “and I wasn’t too upset. It was mostly mutual, anyway. It’s not easy dating a doctor. Unless the other person’s a doctor, they just don’t get it. So, for now, I’m single and uncommitted.” 

She flashes a grin, and reaches past him for the syrup. “I guess that’s what brought us here. We both hit the reset button.”

“Yeah. Kind of at the same time.” Zuko smiles, glad to see the return of her happy, hopeful demeanor, then his attention drifts down to her plate.

Katara already has her waffle drowning in syrup. He almost laughs because she didn’t seem like the type to have such a taste for sugar. 

“Do you always eat such a well-rounded breakfast?” 

“You’re the one who thinks pussy is a meal,” she retorts. 

“Is it not?” A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. 

Katara scowls, but only for a moment. As if to make up for her choices, Katara snags a few strawberry slices from him, sprinkling them around her plate. She winks, like the meal is magically healthy, and Zuko wonders if this some type of food foreplay, until she sticks out her hand.  

“Will you pass the whipped cream, Charming?” 

_ “Oh my god.”  _

The Ready Whip slides across the counter to her. Katara dispenses a dollop on top of her waffle, then goes so far as to squirt some in her mouth. She wiggles in her seat, cleans her lip off with her fingers, and moans. It’s only when Zuko’s cheeks flush pink that Katara relents. 

“You’re so easy to rile up,” she teases, “and  _ you _ started it!”

“Me!?” He splutters. “You were the one— Are you ser—” Zuko points a bite of waffle at her. “You know exactly what you’re doing and you better stop unless you want to go without breakfast.” 

“Is that a threat? Or an invitation…” 

Zuko thinks for a second, squinting. “Both.”

“Too bad. I’m declining. Resisting. Whatever you’d like call it.” Katara shovels a pile of waffle and strawberry into her mouth and swallows hungrily. “I’m famished, and unlike you and your pussy diet, I cannot survive on dick alone.” 

He chuckles around a mouthful, but leaves her alone.

Ariana Grande has long since faded out, leaving them to eat in the quiet setting of his kitchen. The occasional siren drifts up from the city, the scattered bird song filters in from the feeder on his balcony; besides that, the apartment is silent. 

But, for once in his life, the silence isn’t deafening. Zuko’s content: eating, drinking coffee, stealing shy glances to his left. He ponders asking her out to dinner. Not for that evening and not anywhere serious, he’d just like to know if she’s interested in seeing him. 

_ Casual dating,  _ that’s how he could pose it, at least until they can make a decision about commitment.

Zuko almost has the courage he needs. If Katara’s wanting a man who will work around her schedule, he has a chance, doesn’t he? He’s busy, too. Constantly. Some nights have him sleeping in the office. He understands canceled plans, weeks of take-out on end, minimal sex that results in marathons of it… if that’s what Katara needs…

“One new message from Uncle,” the monotone Alexa interrupts their meal, stealing Zuko’s moment. “The message says: I have errands this afternoon. Meet me in an hour?” 

He drops his fork with a groan, remembering his worries when he first rolled out of bed.  _ Is he fucking serious? The newly divorced man trying to date a one-night stand?  _ That’s the opposite of what he’s supposed to do.

Zuko gets up abruptly and clears his plate, taking it to the sink. The glass clatters in the basin loudly. 

“Text back: Be there around 11,” he instructs, turning on the water to wash away the syrup. 

“You have to go?” Katara asks, almost startling him. 

Zuko flips the faucet off and turns around, “Yeah, sorry. I forgot I texted him. He… might need my help today.” 

“No, it’s no problem, you just looked upset. I— I can leave now,” she offers, “if I’m in your hair or bugging you.” 

His scowl gives way to an apology immediately. “No… no, no, no. It’s not you. I promise it’s not you. I’m just— I was lost in thought and that stupid speaker always interrupts.” Zuko gestures flippantly, then bites his lip. It’s not her fault he’s an idiot. He reigns in his mood, smiling. 

“I’m going to shower, if you want to join me. I mean,” he looks around, trying to make the offer appealing, “if you think the kitchen’s nice, you should see the faucet settings.” 

Katara laughs, “Are you one of those men who has to have his water set to exactly 100.2 degrees?”

“Honestly, it’s all a little too fancy for me. My ex picked the place out. I bought it, so I got it in the divorce.” 

“Well, Charming,” Katara puts on a flirtatious look, slinking around the island towards him. “If you don’t mind just turning the water on and testing it with your foot like a commoner, I’d love to join you.”

Her hands are warm and soft when they settle on his hips. Her fingertips tap his skin, then hook in the top of his pajama pants and push them down his thighs. She smirks, cups his balls briefly, finally wraps her hand around his rapidly swelling cock. 

Zuko exhales loudly. Katara captures it with a kiss. 

“And…” she murmurs, settling back on her heels, her mouth an inch from his while she strokes him. “Maybe someday, maybe soon… I can return the favor by inviting you into my minimalist shower."

“I prefer soon.” 

He can feel Katara smile against his lips. 

“Give me your number before I go.” 

* * *

Zuko helps Katara into a cab a half hour late, but as she pulls away, he’s never felt more elated.


	3. you'll be the death of me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko is clueless-and shy-when it comes to dating. uncle and azula try to help. and, in other, unrelated news, zuko learns there are some real benefits to facetiming his hook-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka: why can’t i just write porn without plot (it’d be so much easier)

The bell above the door chimes as Zuko steps into the Jasmine Dragon around 11:45 in the morning. It’s a quaint little shop, set on the corner of a busy intersection in downtown Seattle. Uncle never would’ve been able to afford the rent, but Zuko took it upon himself to buy the place. It was his way of repaying the man for everything he’d done. Grand gestures always make his feelings clear, especially when Zuko can’t vocalize them.

And telling Uncle how grateful he is… it’s impossible.

He smiles fondly around the space. The windows offer a view of the bustling, rain-slick street, providing readers with plenty of natural light. Towards the back, soft lamps and couches give a space for customers to lounge and talk. There was always Zuko’s favorite place, particularly the ugly, orange chair where he’d challenge Uncle to chess on slow, Saturday mornings.

Glancing somewhat longingly at the spot, Zuko wonders if Katara would like it as much as him, then ventures past the counter. The grad student at the register, Jin, beams at him. 

“Morning, Zuko. How are you, today?” 

“Good. Thanks.” 

He blushes brightly, in spite of himself—Azula told him a month ago that Jin’s interested and he can’t forget it—before gliding past her into the kitchen.

“Uncle?” Zuko calls, rubbing away the pink tint on his neck. The swinging door squeaks shut behind him, signaling his arrival. “Uncle? Are you back here?”

“Well, there he is, late as usual.” Azula breezes out of the pantry, carrying absolutely nothing but an air of self-importance. “Nice of you to join us, Zuzu.”

“Hey, you’re late just as often as me.”

Uncle appears behind her, juggling jars of tea leaves and wearing a smile, “Oh, leave him be, Azula. He worked the register yesterday. Your brother’s exhausted.”

“Really?” Azula props a hip against the counter and crosses her arms, eyeing Zuko skeptically. “Is that why you look like you didn’t sleep last night? So stressed from giving customers change?” 

He scoffs at her. “Believe it or not, I was busy last night,” Zuko says, helping his uncle with some of the jars. He deposits them on the steel countertop. “I might not have a bustling social life like you, but I still have things to do.”  

“Pay-per-view?”

“I don’t pay for porn. Who the fuck pays for porn?” Zuko snaps. “And, she was rea—”

“That’s enough,” Uncle cuts in, mock disappointment on his brow. “My word, if you two insist on behaving like children, you will be treated like children! Go find the jasmine blend, Azula. Zuko,” Uncle scoops up three jars, leaving the same amount for Zuko, and bobs his head, “come with me. I’m sure customers are waiting and it seems I have to keep you under my thumb.”

Zuko does as he’s told, following his uncle back to the front, though he senses a smile in the old man’s tone.

It took years, a third of Iroh’s life, for his family to pull together like this. When Zuko’s cousin died at eighteen, his world fell apart. Then, Zuko’s father went to prison, leaving two angry teenagers with a bloody empire and no parents, and Uncle took them in. He began rebuilding, stone by stone: their home, their happiness, their souls.

Half a decade later, when Zuko was twenty-four and Azula was graduating from Harvard  _ (nothing but the best for her) _ , their mother turned up. All over again, the careful existence of their found family began crumbling. But, Uncle held them together. He held them all— Zuko, Azula, Ursa. Uncle stitched up the wounds left behind by Ozai, mended their hearts as best he could.

Whenever he gets choked up about it, Zuko makes a joke about tea: “You go to a lot of effort for some hot leaf juice, Uncle.”

Zuko swears Uncle grumbles something about betrayal as he puts away the jars of tea leaves. He’s wearing a frown when he pulls his head from the cabinet and closes the door.  

“Do not think you can distract me with the fundamentals of tea brewing, nephew. You’ve known them since you were nineteen.” His finger wags sternly, then his eyes twinkle with mischief. “What was that I heard about a  _ she?” _

_ “She.  _ Right.”

He looks away shyly; his hands itch to be busy. Snagging a wadded dish towel, Zuko begins wiping down the countertops, then moves on to the espresso machine. It doesn’t matter that Jin already cleaned it to a shine.

“I- I made a friend,” Zuko says. “I think.”

“Last night?”

“Yeah. She, uh…” His thoughts drift ever so briefly to Katara’s mouth around his dick in the shower. Zuko bites down on his lip. Hard. “She made me late.” 

_ “Ohohoo!  _ A sleepover.” Uncle jabs him in the ribs, whispering conspiratorial. “An _ adult _ sleepover.”

Air hisses through Zuko’s teeth.. He twists the towel in his hands before dropping it, unable to help how his face heats. “I  _ am _ an adult. A fully-grown, single man, in fact. I’m allowed to have people over for the night.”

“People? Plural? My goodness, Zuko, pace yourself.”

His uncle laughs. Jin snickers, too, having overheard the comment; the shop is small and quiet, after all. Customers’ headphones are the only reason Zuko’s spared the embarrassment of everyone eavesdropping. He leans back against the counter and folds his arms, eyes focused resolutely on his feet.

“It was just one woman, Uncle. One very pretty, very far out of my league woman. She took me completely by surprise, and I think… well, I think I might see her, again.”

“You might?” Azula’s pointy, red flats tap into his line of sight. “Did you make plans with her?”

No pretense. Just straight to the point. How very Azula.

Zuko shrugs. “Sort of…?”

“That’s a no,” Azula snorts.

“It’s not a no! It’s a—  _ Ugh.”  _  He grumbles under his breath, rubbing his eyes before glaring pointedly at his sister. “We left things open, implied a future date. She’s a surgeon, so she’s constantly busy, and I didn’t want to put any pressure on her. But, she took my phone number before she left.”

Uncle makes a small, excited sound. “Has she texted you yet?”

_ “Um.”  _ Zuko frowns, shifting off the counter and fishing in his back pocket. He’s almost too nervous to check, but it’s the kind of nervous that lends more towards excitement than dread. Zuko taps his phone, scrolls down the list of notifications from ESPN and NBC on the lock screen, and tries to control the way his thumb trembles.

**Messages:** **  
** **3 New Notifications.**

Butterflies flutter around in his stomach. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize and that makes his breath catch more than he’ll ever admit. He hits the notification and punches in his password when he’s prompted. The phone’s quick, but it still feels like forever before his messages open.

_ I want another waffle. _

Zuko smiles, an unabashed, genuine, smile—

_ This is Katara, by the way. Probably should’ve led with that. _ _   
_ _ Wouldn’t want to end up as Waffle Woman in your contacts. _

—then he laughs. “Yeah, she has.”

His attention drifts to the timestamp on her first message. 11:23. Not even fifteen minutes after he waved goodbye to her. Something about that makes Zuko’s heart warm, makes him feel like she’s just as excited to explore things, and maybe not just sex things. He bites his lip to prevent his smile from turning to a full-on grin, but one leg bounces up and down, his heel tapping the concrete floor.

What should he say? Does he ask her on a date? Zuko looks up to ask for help, but his uncle and sister are gawking at him. His cheeks burn until they’re bright pink. 

“What?” 

Azula raises a single brow, “You really like her.” 

“Katara… and, yeah,” he chuckles under his breath, slowly lowering his phone. He slips it back into his pocket. Texting her will go better for him when he’s not shaking. “Yeah, I do. She’s amazing; super smart, funny and dorky… outrageously beautiful. I—” 

“—you’re smitten,” Uncle finishes. He’s giddy and disbelieving.

“I am?” 

“I don’t think you smiled this much on your wedding day.” Azula quirks a brow. “Then again, Mai is a sour bitch.” 

“Is that crazy?” 

“What? That you married Mai? Yes.” 

Zuko grimaces at her, “No, asshole. Being… this excited about her, about someone new. Already.” he emphasizes. “I finalized a divorce last week. I should be upset. I can’t… I can’t be falling for someone else.” 

“Who says?” 

“What?” 

“Who says you can’t be falling? Is there some rulebook?” Azula pushes. 

“I just… I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I woke up this morning with her right next to me and I… I felt something. I felt  _ happy _ . Naturally, it took me about three seconds to panic. So, I texted Uncle.” An embarrassed smile tugs at the corners of Zuko’s mouth. He blushes again, and drops his eyes to his black Nikes. 

“Turns out that was dumb. We had breakfast together and talked all morning even though we were up all night and…” His hand subconsciously settles over the back of his jeans, where he feels around for the familiar shape of his iPhone. “She texted me.” 

Uncle laughs, “We have a smitten kitten on our hands, don’t we, Azula?” 

“A lot of good that does when he’s hiding out here instead of texting her back.” His sister’s stare is sharp and knowing.

“I’m not hiding,” Zuko protests quickly. “I needed some confirmation that I’m not insane.” 

“Well, I can’t offer you that.” 

“You’re really not helping, Azula.” 

She hums, pretending to inspect her fingernails. “I’m not trying to. You always do this. You go to people for their opinion and then you do what you think they want. That’s how you ended up with Mai, isn’t it? Trying to get approval from Daddy, even from prison?” 

“Azula!” Uncle scolds. 

“What? I’m right,” she insists. “He fucked me up, too. I’m allowed to say what I want about it.” Her gaze flicks back to Zuko. “You have to figure out what you want all by yourself. You can’t let us or Dad or anyone else make up your mind for you. This woman, Katara?” 

He nods, and Azula goes on. 

“The date of your divorce doesn’t matter to Katara as much as you think it does. She’s obviously determined that you’re not using her for sex or some poorly hatched plan to make your ex-wife jealous. That’s why she stayed all the way through breakfast and took your number. That’s why she texted you.” 

Zuko squints slyly. “What if she’s using  _ me _ for sex?” 

“Oh, god. Gross,” Azula waves her hands in disgust. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“What? I could be using her, but not the other way around?” 

He laughs smugly as she scrunches up her face and disappears into the kitchen. In her absence, Zuko throws a smirk at his uncle, who’s shaking his head with quiet mirth. 

“And here I thought I’d have to drive you up a wall with riddles to make you text Miss Katara back.” 

“So, you’re in agreement, then? I should go for this?” 

“Oh nephew,” The old man chuckles, his hands on his belly. “Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not.” 

* * *

Zuko keeps his phone carefully tucked away for most of the day. It feels like a rock in his pocket, constantly thumping against his backside with a beat that says _ ‘text. her. back.’  _ But, his stomach is a mess of knots. His legs shake when he walks. His heart stutters every time he reaches into his pocket, and at the least second, he chickens out. 

What if he says something wrong? What if he messes it up? 

He helps his uncle count inventory and restock the shelves. He buses tables with Jin, takes over the register, and sweeps the entire shop three times. In the background, his thoughts are running a mile a minute, coming up with different versions of the same basic text to send her, fumbling over the best possible option. 

Whenever Azula or Uncle pester him about what he’s doing, Zuko fires back about his greatest ideas coming when his hands are busy.

Around six, when the shop has slowed from the afternoon rush and only a family of four sits in the window, Azula grabs Zuko by the wrist. With force surprising for her size, she drags him out into the street. 

“What are y—”

“You’re going home,” Azula says, demanding and domineering. Her hands curl into fists and she sets them on her hips like it’ll add girth to her tiny frame. “You’re not allowed inside the tea shop until you text Katara back and get a date.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since right now. Uncle’s orders.” 

Zuko looks past her. His uncle’s hovering in the front window. As soon as he catches Zuko’s eyes, he startles, quickly turning away and pretending to busy himself by wiping down a nearby table. It doesn’t keep him occupied long; Zuko already cleaned it twice.

He growls under his breath and glowers at his sister. “Why didn’t he make me leave?”

“Because you’ve always been a little frightened of me.” 

“Have not.”

“Are you going to fight me on this?” Azula stares him down.

Zuko releases the set of his jaw with a groan, his head lolling back. “ _ Goddamnit. _ I’ll go. I’ll text her.” 

“See?” Her piercing laugh joins the sound of passing traffic, making Zuko’s scowl deepen. Azula reaches for him, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently to show she’s teasing. Her smile softens.

“Don’t overthink it, okay? Send something playful, but sweet,” she says. “Call Ty Lee if you’re that nervous. Run a few lines by her. She’s… something of an expert when it comes to flirtatious texting. How do you think she got me?” 

“How you’ve managed to keep her around is more of the mystery to me.”

“I can’t even begin to fathom what you mean.”

Azula winks. Then, with a short wave, she flags down a cab for him and sends him on his way. 

* * *

He phones Ty Lee in the cab, but she offers the same advice as his sister.

Be sweet. Try a little flirting. Don’t be suggestive unless she is first. Make sure to set a date and a time to see her again. Don’t be surprised if she says she’s busy on your first try; some women play hard to get. Zuko rattles off a few lines he’s thought of, all of which make Ty squeal with delight. 

When he hangs up, Zuko opens the messages from Katara and types out the line that made Ty Lee squeal the loudest:  _ Waffle Woman could work... but I’m saving you as Kit Kat and there’s nothing you can do about it. _

Her response is almost immediate:  _ I’m not afraid to block you. _

Zuko grins like love-struck teen. Was she waiting to hear from him?

_ You’ll miss me,  _ he replies.

_ And your dick.  _

He buries his mouth behind his hand, stuck somewhere between laughter and a scoff of disbelief. The cab driver looks at him oddly; their eyes meet in the rear view mirror before Zuko can glance away. He feels the heat creeping up his neck and drags his fingers down it, tugging on his collar before texting back. 

_ Fine. A chocolate bar by your name?  _ He fights to keep his composure.

His phone vibrates before he can lock the screen.  _ If you don’t mind me putting a strawberry by yours... _

That makes his breath catch with another quiet curse. The driver has to think he’s having some kind of seizure by now, but _ god. _ Those strawberries. Another reason he was late to the Jasmine Dragon. Another contribution to their desperate need for a shower. 

He chews his lip and stares at his phone, struggling to forget her tongue lapping sweet trails of juice off his skin, searching for the right response. His cock twitches, hardening enough that the shape’s visible through his pants. Zuko lifts his hips from the carseat and tugs on the front of his jeans in a bid for some relief. He has to change the subject before he starts sweating in the back of a cab, but to what? His thumbs circle above the keyboard aimlessly.

Maybe it’s just the texting. Maybe that makes her bold. He tries a new tactic. 

_ I’m almost home. Can I call you? _

There’s a delay. A long one, long enough for Zuko to tip the cab driver and wave hello to the doorman outside his building. He steps into the elevator a minute later, worrying while simultaneously telling himself to knock it off. She’ll text him back… unless he’s scared her off. 

He resolutely keeps his phone in his back pocket, all the while chanting to it under his breath.  _ Just ding. Just fucking ding.  _ It does, at the same time the elevator stops on his floor. Zuko practically skips out, and he’s wearing a stupid,  _ stupid  _ grin all the way to his apartment. He unlocks his phone as soon as he’s unlocked his door. 

_ Facetime?  _ her text reads. 

That catches him by surprise. The good kind of surprise. He gets to see her face, again.

Quickly, Zuko closes his front door and rushes to his bedroom. It’s still in disarray from their marathon of sex. Pillows are strewn across the wood floor and the navy sheets hang halfway off the bed. He manages to find a white t-shirt and sweatpants among the mess, which he tugs on after kicking off his jeans and shoes. 

Dressed more comfortably, Zuko flops on his stomach in the middle of his bed and taps the video icon next to Katara’s contact. It connects after one ring and she appears, smiling at him over a bubble bath.  

“Charming. Nice to see you.” 

“Kit Kat...” He ignores her disgruntled snort, grinning back. 

The bathroom’s dim, candlelit. He spots grey towels in the background and an array of hair products and face things in a shower basket hanging above her head, She has a wine glass and candles on the ledge next to her. Little flames reflect off the water and the humid tiles. The swell of her breasts glisten whenever she takes a breath and when she leans forward to collect her drink, the bubbles barely hide her nipples.  

Zuko catches himself ogling. His mouth snaps shut immediately, and he pointedly searches for a PG topic, one that doesn’t involve her boobs or her bathtub or how he’d very much like to submerge himself in both. “Do you have your phone in the soap dish?”

_ Smooth. _ At least, it’s a safe question. He thinks. He should know better, given how she’s smirking. 

“It’s the perfect vantage point, isn’t it?”

_ Vantage point for wh—? _ Zuko shakes the thread of hope from his head. “It’s very nice…? But, you could’ve just called me.” 

“And miss out on those pretty eyes? I’d rather risk the nip slip.” 

“Right. Because I haven’t seen them.” 

“Yeah, you’ve never sucked on them, either.” Nonchalantly, Katara tucks a curl back into the bun on top of her head. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s a rare occurrence to find a man who’s so attentive to his one-night-stand.” 

He laughs shyly, glancing away. “Doesn’t a one-night-stand imply never speaking to you again?”

“Oh. You’re right. I'll hang up, then.”  

“No!” 

He says it too urgently, and as soon as he realizes her teasing, Zuko tries to cover his outburst with a cool smile. He’s sure he looks silly, but Katara does, too. Maybe she’s nervous… like him. Of course, they could be jittery for entirely different reasons. In his case, he’s scared as all hell to ask for a date, to question if there’s something more than sex between them. They talked a lot, too; they had fun, in Zuko’s opinion, even  _ out _ of bed. 

But, maybe Katara’s nervous because she actually does want a one-night stand.

“I—” His brows knit together. If that’s the case, where does he start? Ty Lee’s advice rings in his ears, however, saving him from just hanging up. “Did you have a good day?”

“I did,” she says. “I went to the hospital for a while, did a little research. The interns were, per usual, out of hand, but I didn’t mind so much today. Something had to keep me busy while I waited for a text back.” Katara purses her lips over her wine glass, making Zuko fidget.

“Sorry about that… I honestly couldn’t figure out what to say! I spent the entire day bussing tables for my uncle while trying to come up with the perfect line.” 

A bright smile overtakes her face. “Zuko, that’s precious.” 

“Yeah, if precious means lame. You’ve ruined all my game.”

“I don’t think I’m responsible for that…” 

Feigning hurt, Zuko does his damnedest to keep his brow furrowed and lips pressed together, but his mirth is obvious. A laugh bursts through his nose, proving Katara right, and she cracks completely. 

Her shoulders shake with subdued laughter and she draws her knees up, balancing her wine glass among the bubbles on them. Her head settles against the tiles as she wipes a tear from her lashes, then rests her hand on her chest. 

“That reply took you all day? Am I that intimidating?” 

“Do you think you’re not? You’re…” Zuko half shrugs, looking for the right word to describe her.

“A vixen?” Katara offers. 

There’s a blush on her cheeks, but her eyes are mischievous, secretive, like she’s remembering something special, something for just the two of them. Zuko’s thoughts immediately jump to the backseat of his car, to the smell of sex and handprints on foggy windows, and lust drops like a hot coal in his stomach. He’ll never be able to glance over his shoulder without heat unfurling in his stomach, never be able to think about it, even. 

“Yeah…” His voice is husky. “A vixen, a sex kitten…” 

“I like that last one,” Katara says. She downs the rest of her wine with a coy smile, then sets the empty glass on the tub’s ledge. “Sex kitten.”  

“You do? Like, specifically, or just—?” Zuko cuts off with an inaudible gasp, mouth hanging halfway open. 

Katara’s no longer hiding beneath the bubbles. She’s sat up, brought her arms above her head like she means to fix her hair; except, she’s not. She’s toying with a few loose strands that’ve fallen from her bun. 

“Specifically.” 

“Oh.” He should look away. This is some private moment, something not meant for him to see—maybe she doesn’t know she’s above the water line—but he can’t tear his gaze from her. He follows her hands, and her hands wander. “My god.” 

“Calling me anything else means I’d have to tone myself down,” she says, eyes beckoning him. 

Forgetting the humid curls on her neck, her fingertips trail the length of her shoulders and swoop across her collarbones. She tickles down her sternum, leaving a path of sudsy water that glistens in the candlelight, and traces the curves of her ribcage back up to her breasts. Her nipples pebble up at the barest brush of her thumbs, then Katara cups herself roughly. 

A smirk tugs at her lips. “And, I’d rather not.” 

“Yeah, I- I can see that.”  

When her left hand dips below the water’s surface, he bites down on his tongue to hide a groan. A tiny shiver runs through her limbs, a silent gasp quivering on her lips, and Zuko can’t help himself. The sound escapes his throat, coming out like a suppressed whine, and his cock twitches between his hips and the mattress. 

A less-than-innocent smile slides into place. “So responsive… Are you already hard?” 

“I’m—” Zuko rolls onto his side, adjusting himself in search of some relief, but it doesn’t help. 

Nothing does: not his uncle’s fat belly or Azula’s snide remarks, not the tea shop or mopping floors or the taxes he needs to file, because all it takes is another glance at her and he’s in pain. 

Katara’s touching herself, and she wants him to know it. Her eyes are slits of blue staring him down. Her lips are pursed, with a diamond of black parting them. Little whispers of bliss echo off the bathroom tiles. Ripples disturb the water, dissolving the bubbles around her. Zuko imagines her hips hitching upward, pictures her desperate attempts for more depth, more friction. It’s how she fucked him all night, like he couldn’t be rough enough or go deep enough and she could never get enough, but... everything about  _ him _ was enough. 

He can’t take the strain anymore, no matter how he tries. She’s a sight to behold, wrapped up in golden candlelight. 

As smoothly as he can—he’s scared she’ll catch him; he’s scared she’ll stop—Zuko shifts onto his back. With pillows shoved under his head and his phone held up on his chest, he slips his hand below the waistband of his pants and grips his cock. He’s so tortuously turned on, it  _ almost  _ feels good. 

And, he’s struck by the travesty it is that he’s not in the bath, too. She’d be in his lap. He’d be chasing shadows from her neck to her breasts, lapping at the droplets of water speckled around her nipples. He’d trace the curve of her ribcage with his fingertips, leave a trail of goosebumps down her stomach. He’d be the reason she whimpers, the reason she begs. 

There’s no more denying it, no trying to hide it. Zuko pumps his cock and his whole body quivers, making his voice crack around _ “—Yeah…  _ I am.”  

“Good,” she moans, almost silent. And, that’s it. 

With her pupils diluting nearly all the blue, her eyes stay on him. Her mouth is open, but she’s quiet, secretive. Zuko doesn’t dare do more than slow, shallow strokes, but even that’s quickly becoming too much. A visible flush stains her cheeks. Sweat prickles his skin. Every time her lashes flutter or her lips twitch around a pleased sound, it makes his balls ache. From wherever she is, she could still make him come in minutes.

“Let me see,” she says. “Show me how you please yourself.” 

Surprise flickers across his face, until Katara gives him a daring smile and Zuko has to admit, he wants this, too. 

Using some of the pillows behind him, he finds the angle that allows Katara a full view of him, then props his phone up and reaches towards his nightstand. He finds an old bottle of lube in the top drawer, and with a glob deposited in his palm, Zuko stretches out and starts stroking himself again. Now, the sound of his hand, slippery and wet, gliding up and down his cock joins his occasional groan. He closes his eyes, and pretends it’s the sound of himself sinking into her cunt. 

She’s so hot. She’s so tight. Inhibitions lowered, he hisses, “I want to fuck you.  _ God _ , I want to fuck you, again.” 

“Is that all?” Katara asks. “Do you want anything else?” 

“I want you on top of me.” 

_ “Mmm… _ you like how my tits bounce.” 

“And, how you bite my neck.” He peeks at her. Katara’s sunk lower in the water, with her knees spread wider, pressed up against the tub’s sides. 

She cups her breasts with one hand, torturing each nipple to hard peak. “Tell me what else you want, Zuko.” 

_ “Yes.”  _ Hearing his name sends him to an entirely new plane. He still watches her, but his mind drifts away, flicking through the fantasies he’s always played close to his chest.

“The balcony,” Zuko says. “I want to fuck you out there, above the city.” He closes his eyes again, picturing it. “If anyone were to look up, they’d see us. They’d see how much you like my cock.” 

“You have such a good cock.” 

He whines, and grips himself tighter. 

“We can see how you like it in my office. I’ll bend you over my desk and push your skirt up around your hips.” He almost comes at the thought.  _ Not yet _ . Zuko groans, staves it off. “You can drop by everyday, and I’ll spend my lunch hour with my head between your legs. You’ll be begging me to stop; your clit will be swollen and throbbing… so, I’ll leave your cunt alone, and I’ll fuck your ass.”   

“Yes. Please.” Katara’s breathy moan sends a sharp jolt straight through him. 

He wants to come. He wants to show her what she does to him, how hot she makes him. Zuko speeds up, grunting, rutting off the bed and into his hands.

But, she warns him off. “Slow… Slowly. Imagine it’s me.” 

_ “Kat—”  _

“I know… I know, handsome. You’re so close, but you’ll have to wait,” she teases, “because I’d take my time with you. This is the best part, the part where you can hardly think. Your fingers leave bruises on me. You try to force me down, make me take every inch of your cock, or you thrust up, desperate to pump me full of cum.” 

His face contorts with pain. “Fuck, I need you.” 

“What would you do?” 

“Flip you over. Pin your hands above your head. Put your legs on my shoulders.” If he’s not allowed to work his cock how he wants, he’ll mimic her shallow strokes from last night, the movements that made him fall apart too quickly.

Katara makes a sound of approval. “Yes. Just like that. Just the head. Mmm—” she moans, playing with a nipple, pulling and twisting and mimicking the little pinches he made with his teeth last night. When it’s pink and pert from the attention, her hand dips below the water to join her other, drawing more pleased noises from her throat. “Good. Good boy.” 

“You’d beg me every time I sink into you. Go deeper. Move faster. I wouldn’t listen. I’d pay you back for this.” 

“Oh my god, Zuko…” Her words tremble; she bites her bottom lip.

Not for the last time, he wishes he were there, wishes he could see the tremor in her thighs as she circles her wet, swollen clit. And her lips, too— he pictures her parting them, showing off the sensitive, slick flesh, slipping two fingers through them and gasping as she fills herself. 

Her breath falters, and Katara stiffens, humming through what has to be the cusp of her release. 

Zuko prays she’ll fall; then, he can, too. He wants to, so badly. He’s on the verge of coming, only holding back because she’s required it. The movements he’s making pick up just a bit, still around the tip of his cock, but he can feel the unrelenting heat in his stomach, the tautness in his balls. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges her, sounding desperate himself. “Don’t… don’t stop.” 

“Are you going to come?”

“Yes. Yes. Katara, please.  _ Let me.”  _

It’s as if his plea is all she needs. Her pupils dilate and her eyes close halfway. Color rushes across her skin and her back curves as a moan reverberates from her lips— it sounds very much like his name, but Zuko’s too caught up in how she looks, how she shivers and shakes, how fucking good it feels to make those quick, hard strokes up and down his cock to really decipher it. 

A second later, hot cum spurts onto his stomach, and it’s her name that reaches his ears.

As does his heartbeat. And the rush in his blood. Zuko shuts his eyes, splaying his arms across the width of his mattress, and rests in that perfect state of bliss for a moment. Katara was wrong before;  _ this  _ is the best part. He’s finally let go, he’s finally found some relief… and he feels  _ good _ . 

Excited, not anxious. Vulnerable, not overexposed. 

_ That’s new, _ he thinks, darkly. 

Anytime he had sex with Mai, he’d immediately tense, throw walls up, and hide away. Laying here now, Zuko doesn’t feel the need to move. Which, truthfully, is exactly why he should. If Azula finds out he just laid here ‘til his dick went soft… 

Gathering his last bits of strength, Zuko wipes his stomach with his sheets (he needs to wash them anyway, after their night together) and tucks himself back inside his sweats. The sound of splashing pulls his attention to his phone, which Zuko grabs as he rolls up on an elbow. 

Nevermind. 

He’s wrong, too. 

The best part is this; it’s her smile and the way she’s gazing at him with hazy, midnight blue. He likes that there’s no urgency in her eyes, no awkward glances aside or underlying tension to say goodbye. Katara looks as content as him, slumped against the tub and the tile, playing with the remnants of bubbles. His own smile appears, lazy and tired.  

“You’ll be the death of me.” 

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

“Maybe not,” he comments. “Unless…” And his heart jumps into his throat, thundering harder than it was earlier. As great as it was, he didn’t call her to get off. He called her to—  _ shit, _ his mouth is so dry. Zuko licks his lips, to no avail, but, at least he finds his voice. “Unless you want to do this again… then, it might be.” 

“This?” One of her brows forms a perfect arc. “Are you asking for more phone sex?” 

He panics. “No. No! I- I want to—”

A laugh echoes in her bathroom. She’s playing with him. Again. 

_ Damn,  _ he has to get used to that. He has to adjust to how forward she is, too, because he’s stunned silent when Katara asks, “How does Wednesday night sound? Around eight? There’s a place by the hospital that has the best Chicken Marsala.”

“Okay...” He can’t believe it. He landed a date? That easily? His brain stutters back to life. “That sounds great. Where should I pick you up?” 

“Well, assuming I get off on time, Harborview Medical Center.” 

“Oh, no way.” 

“What?” Katara asks.

“I have a view of that area from my office,” he says, catching the follow-up question in her gaze. “I work at the Columbia Center.” 

Immediately, her curious expression turns sour. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those Wall Street types.” 

“No…” Unable to know for certain if she’s kidding or extremely opposed to anyone in finance, Zuko tries a safe route. “I’ve never been to Wall Street. Or New York, for that matter. I inherited a company, and I run it, now.” His familial history isn’t one he’s ready to share yet—not like this, not over the phone—so he leaves it at that. “I can tell you a little more on Wednesday?” 

“Very smooth, Charming. Keeping me hooked.” Katara’s usual smile returns, then she sits up and collects her phone, ready to sign off. “But, fine. This water _ is _ getting cold... I’ll see you.”

He nods. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Goodbye, Zuko.”

“Bye… Katara.” 

Zuko waits until she disconnects, then stares at the very short list of FaceTime calls. Katara. Uncle. Ty Lee. There’s a missed notification from a year ago: Mai. Just seeing her number churns his stomach. _ I’m bored,  _ her flat voice whispers. At some point, her complaint changed to  _ You’re boring. You’re dumb. You’re nothing. _ He swipes his thumb across the screen to erase her name.

She doesn't get to fill his head with doubts. 

He’s too happy to let her ruin this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a review if you liked it! <3 (and, this has been mostly beta-read, but i changed some things, so if you spot any errors, don't be afraid to tell me)


	4. people go on dates.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, alternatively, "it's a date, zuzu." azula gives our awkward son some advice and... turns out, she's right.

The mutterings of the Board fade to the background when his phone buzzes on the wood table top.

Normally, Zuko wouldn’t have his phone. On the rare occasions that he does, he ignores it. These meetings already take hours without him caving to distractions, but he knows exactly who the message is from—yes, he _did_ give her a distinct vibration setting—and he knows he’ll be even less attentive if he doesn’t glance at it.

So, as smoothly as he can, Zuko taps in his passcode and opens the text screen.

It takes a second _(he should seriously run the update)_ , then Katara’s stunning blue eyes and bright smile greet him.

 **I could’ve pulled something off my Instagram, but my makeup is great today...** her text reads, responding to his request for contact photo.

Really, it was a sly way of getting a picture to show off. His uncle’s been wondering what she looks like, and Azula claims there’s no way Zuko can land someone so _‘outrageously pretty.’_ He’s bent on proving her wrong. Having been unable to find Katara on Facebook, he asked her for a photo, but prompted by her announcement, he downloads and logs into his old Instagram account.

She isn’t hard to find. Her name isn’t all that common. Her face stands out even more.

Zuko picks the first result.

It’s the first time he’s seen her full name. Zuko guesses at the pronunciation in his head, but he likes it. It has a smooth, crisp end to it; better than his name, with all the baggage attached to it.

 _Dr. Sulek_. Yeah, he’ll enjoy how that tastes on his tongue.

Doing a brief review of her profile, he finds a few pictures of Sokka and Suki, who he remembers meeting at the bar, some snaps of her daily life, and a couple images of her vacationing. The most recent one is stunning, with Katara looking directly at the photographer, the barest hint of humor playing across her face.

He stares for the better half of a minute, fighting the urge to select it and zoom in on her eyes, her lips… the blue dress that clings to her hips.

Hovering for a moment longer, this time over the follow button, Zuko wonders if it’d be creepy. They haven’t been on a single date, though they have plans to go out that evening. And, he has had her naked; twice now, if he counts Facetime a few nights ago.

“Mr. Hiroku, sir?” A Board member calls his name, managing to be heard over Zuko’s train of thought.

Locking his phone without following her—nudity isn’t the best place to make creepy vs. not creepy decisions—he slips into the debate like he’s been listening all along.

“I agree with you, Zhao. This quarter’s marketing budget is tight.” He keeps his tone light, his words still firm. Maintaining the man on staff following Zuko’s takeover was heavily pushed by Uncle, due to the man’s adept knowledge of Ozai’s former projects and old connections. He’s proven useful, even where personalities clash.

And clash they do, especially when Zuko defers Zhao to Azula.

“I’d prefer you try some more creative methods before I shuffle funds.” Zuko nods towards his sister, ignoring the perturbed glare he gets. “Perhaps you can sit down with Azula— she _is_ the director of the outreach program, and very inventive, at that.”

She smiles wickedly. “We’ll come up with something to advertise the Gala, brother. Not to worry.”

* * *

 The meeting finishes smoothly in spite of Zhao’s disgruntled disposition, and Zuko’s free to his own devices. He slips into the hall, rubbing his stomach absently and thinking lunch is in order, when Azula grabs his hand.

“You looked like an idiot in there, smiling at nothing,” she says, tugging him to a halt with an affectionate chuckle. “Katara text you, again?”

“She did.” There’s no point in hiding it from her. Offering up his phone, Zuko comes to Azula’s side, looking over her shoulder at the Instagram page he left open “She sent me her picture.”

“And you immediately stalked her...”

“Is this stalking? I didn’t _follow_ her, I just checked out her page.”

Azula laughs. “That is literally the definition of stalking.” Ignoring Zuko’s grumbling, she scrolls through a number of posts, lingering here and there on the sparse selfies Katara has uploaded, then halting all together on a stunning bikini shot.

“Damn. She _is_ hot. Can I make her my girlfriend?”

He snatches his phone back. “You cannot.”

“Are you threatened?” Azula shoots a playful glare at him. “Because I take time to admire beauty?”

“That was more like ogling.”

“Still not as bad as stalking.”

Azula follows him up the hall and into his office, plopping down on a leather sofa. It faces the wall of windows, which overlooks part of Seattle, including the medical plaza where Katara works. Unable to help himself, Zuko sits beside his sister, studying the distant buildings, and imagines what Katara may be doing.

Probably something heroic— saving kids, soothing burn victims. Or, just making someone smile.

Smiling himself, Zuko kicks his feet up on the coffee table.  “I have a date with her tonight. At eight.”

“You do?” Azula radiates cool surprise. “Where are you taking her?”

“She’s actually taking me somewhere. A little Italian place close to Harborview.”

“Romantic.”

“Is it?” Zuko looks over at his sister, eagerly searching her face for the assurance he needs. “I don’t want it to be too much, or make her think I’m too into this.” He trails off for a moment, reconsidering. “But, I also can’t do too little, because then she’ll think this is a sex thing and I think I want more than se—”

An arched brow makes him stop.

“It’s a date, Zuzu.”

“Yes. It is.”

“People go on dates.”

“Yes. They do.” He gives her a peculiar look.

“So, it can mean nothing; it can mean something. Don’t overthink it or you’ll ruin it for yourself.” When Zuko does nothing more than open and close his mouth, Azula coaches him further. “I know it’s been awhile since you’ve dated anyone. You have to let things unfold naturally.”

 _Naturally?_ He doesn’t even know what that means. “But—”

“No.”

Her jaw is set sternly, but after a moment, Azula’s eyes soften. She angles herself towards him and squeezes just above his knee.

“Let it happen naturally,” she repeats. “Katara accepted a date and picked the place. She wants to spend her evening with you, Zuko… for some unknown reason.” Azula’s lips twitch. “But, for the love of God, don’t gorge yourself on pasta if you’re planning to invite her over.”

“Garlic breath?”

“Well, that… and, you’ll cramp.”

“Nothing sexier than that,” Zuko laughs.

Azula’s hand drops into her own lap and his attention returns to the windows, to the medical center in the distance. Drumming his fingers on the back of the couch absently, Zuko admits his sister is right. If the weekend was _just sex,_ this is _just a date._ He’ll go into it with an open mind and let Katara lead… since everything she does is natural and lovely and completely intoxicating.

“Too much might be inviting her out with us on Saturday,” Azula interrupts his thoughts. “You still should.”

“You want me to bring my hook-up to Zales?”

 _“Tiffany’s,_ I have standards, Zuko. And, yes. I could use a woman’s opinion on Ty’s ring.”

“No, you want to feel her out.” Zuko tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you?”

A shrug lifts Azula’s shoulders. “I’d like to, yes. Can you blame me?” She throws him a sympathetic looks before shifting to her feet. Her hands fly to her hips. “The biggest mistake I made was not warning you about the red flags I saw when you were with Mai. You seemed alright, so I let my worries slide. I never even _asked_ about things.”

“There was a lot going on in your own life, ‘zula.”

He wants to follow her from the couch, hug her, but Zuko knows that affection is far outside the norm for her, especially when the beast that is their father is poked. Allowing a beat of silence to pass, Zuko waits until the memories fade and stands himself.

“Don’t blame yourself, okay?” He only touches her arm. “Things with Mai ran their course. I’m better now, and you are, too.” Zuko smiles when Azula does. “If it makes you happy, I’ll bring Katara on Saturday.”

Azula’s look turns sharp, cutting right through him. “Assuming tonight goes well.”

If it wasn’t such a relief to see her biting humor return, Zuko would’ve huffed. “Thanks for the reminder, sis.”  

* * *

The rest of his day goes by smoothly, but slowly. By mid-afternoon, he’s almost wishing for a crisis, something to pass the time between the texts he sneaks off to Katara and **7:30** , when he’ll slip out of the office and walk to the hospital.

Naturally, nothing goes his way— at least, not how he wants.

He does get his crisis, but it comes in the form of a phone call from Mai and her lambasting him for never sending the last of her things to her new place. Zuko ends the conversation abruptly, _You can swing by and grab the box whenever you want, Mai. I’m not your local post office,_ then spends the next hour pouring into spreadsheets to erase her harsh voice from his thoughts.

It works in a roundabout way.

When Zuko glances at his watch again, prompted by the sun casting a pink and purple glow around his office, he jumps.

“Shit.”

**7:50.**

He’ll be late if he walks, later if he takes his car. Zuko kicks off his dress shoes and stomps into trainers, stuffing the former in his bag and waving past Haru in reception. The man always stays as late as him; Zuko makes a mental note to show his appreciation in the morning.

As for right now… he darts out of the Columbia Center onto Cherry St., setting a brisk jogging pace towards the hospital. It’s a half mile or so there. Zuko makes it in six or so minutes.

Wiping the first pricks of sweat from his forehead—fortunately, the fall weather kept him mostly cool—he follows signs for the plastics wing and greets the nurse at the intake desk.

“Hi, I’m here for Dr. Sulek.” He enunciates her last name based on his best guess, and the nurse corrects him gently.

“Su _-leek.”_ Her smile is friendly. “She mentioned a date tonight… that’s you?”

Zuko nods.

“I’ll page her.”

Thanking her, Zuko picks a seat in the waiting area and switches back to his dress shoes. His fingers have a tremor to them, making it difficult to work with the fine laces, but he manages to slow his nerves just in time.

The bay doors whir as the motor pulls them open.

“Dr. Sulek?”  Katara emerges as he returns his trainers to his shoulder bag, tapping a clutch against her thigh and smiling amusedly. “We’re on a last name basis now, are we? Hiroku.”

“At least you pronounced mine right.”

Zuko stands and closes the last bit of distance to her, pushing down the thought that there could be a reason she knows which syllables to hit and how.

She looks amazing; that’s his primary focus. Her chocolate hair is up in a ponytail and her fitted dress—red really is her color—clings to her figure in a way that’s both sexy and crisp. She smells even better when she hugs him, like vanilla and citrus. Zuko lets a hand linger on the small of her back when they break apart seconds later.

“You ready?” he asks.

Katara tilts her chin, blue eyes flirty and playful. “Are you?”

* * *

Early fall air lends to a comfortable walk for the five and a half blocks it is to Vito’s Restaurant & Lounge.  

Zuko swings Katara’s hand in his as they navigate the downtown sidewalks, happy enough with the sounds of the city that he doesn’t force any topic. Katara doesn’t either; she comments on the hospital’s prime location for all things food and coffee and laments the end of summer. He smiles, secretly calmed by her nervousness because he’s nervous, too.

When they reach Vito’s, the hostess shows them past red decor and unique paintings, leading them towards an open table in the back. Katara slides into a cozy booth directly across from the stage and the piano. A jazz band plays softly, crowded around the man in the piano seat. Zuko is prepared to sit with his back to it all when Katara pats the spot beside her.

“Here— so I don’t seem rude by constantly looking over your shoulder. We can watch together, and I’ll actually be able to hear you speak.”

He shivers with a spark of electricity when he does as she instructs, and Katara puts her hand on his leg.

“So obedient,” she compliments, curling closer in the booth. Her pointy heel grazes his calf. “And here I thought it was just over Facetime.”

Zuko blushes. He’s grateful for the atmosphere around them: the low, glowing lights and dim, private atmosphere. To her, he doesn’t look much different, even if his cheeks burn bright pink.

“I’ve always responded well to clear direction.”

“Have you?”

He nods. “I like to know what people expect of me. It keeps things transparent.” Zuko absently brushes her hand, playing with the delicate ring around her middle finger. “Guessing games aren’t my forte.”

Katara tilts her head thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine they’re anyone’s, not in relationships, at least.” A smile flits across her lips before her attention goes to the menu. “But, riddle me this, Charming… what pairs best with pasta?”

“My sister actually warned me against pasta.”

“And, why’s that?”

“Garlic breath,” Zuko chuckles. “And, Azula said I might cramp.”

Pretty blue eyes roll upwards. Katara’s musical laugh joins his. “Then I’ll risk the cramp, if I must. You cannot come to Vito’s and only have the house salad, Zuko.” She turns a sharp look to him, and Zuko tries to hide how much he likes this bossy attitude— her arched brow and the sound of his name on her tongue.

Ducking his head, he peruses the menu for a quick second and waves down the waitress in their section.

“We’ll take a bottle of sauvignon blanc,” he briefly glances at Katara for her approval. “And two waters, as well.”   

“Are you two ready for dinner?” the waitress asks.

Zuko taps the back of Katara’s hand, signaling that she should go first.

“The chicken marsala,” she says predictably, “and a caprese salad to start.”

“Make that two salads.” He nudges Katara like there’s a private joke between them. “And, I’ll have your lemon fettuccine, thank you.”

“Sure thing. We’ll have that out soon.”

The waitress turns on her heel and heads towards the bar, putting in their drink orders before going to the kitchen.

Zuko watches her leave, thoughts distant for the time being. He can’t help but pay mind to how at ease he is. Aside from the natural jitters making his heart beat quickly, there isn’t any underlying anxiety that he’ll do something or say something wrong without knowing it.

Until—

“So, tell me about this mysterious company.” Katara squeezes his leg for his attention. “I might’ve teased you over the weekend about Wall Street types, but I’m genuinely curious.”

Her soft smile proves it, but Zuko finds himself battling tightness in his chest.

“Uh...” he clears his throat.

What does she know? What does he tell her? She figured out his last name; all it likely took was a quick Google search. His family, his father in particular, isn’t _unknown._ The crimes committed before Zuko had any say in the matter were widespread news following Ozai’s arrest. And, Zuko is the man’s spitting image.

That was the only real positive that came with Mai: she knew. Her family was involved in it. Zuko has no idea how someone outside the Foundation’s previous leadership will react to such… revelations.

He squirms, forever grateful for the waitress when she stops by with their wine. Pouring a generous helping into their glasses, Zuko sniffs his before taking a sip.

It’s either now or never. Better to get it over with.

“...I’m assuming you’ve heard of The Caldera Foundation?”

“I have,” Katara nods. “It was featured in Forbes recently.”

“It was.”

Zuko watches the pale wine swirl around his glass. And he waits, waits for the follow-up accusations of fraud, misuse of funds, corruption and extortion and embezzlement. The article went into detail on it, concluding with the changes Zuko had made. But, nothing comes. She’s looking at him thoughtfully, then… sheepishly?

“I… noticed the magazine on your coffee table. Even if _you_ hadn’t been on the cover, I still would’ve picked it up… which would’ve led to your mailing address, and… I was in highschool at the time, but I remember your father on the news.” Katara swallows a mouthful of wine. “There was nothing better to do… you’re too cute when you sleep, I didn't want to wake you.”

“So, you read a business magazine?”

“You’re clearly a master of hiding the TV remote.”

“I don’t have one. It’s all on my phone.”

Her perturbed scowl makes him smile, which makes him laugh, because all of him is so ridiculously relieved she’s not up and running. She’s known of him, _about_ him, since she whipped together breakfast in his kitchen and she stayed; she flirted with him; she agreed to this date.

Zuko feels elated. It shows, bleeding into his grin and leaving deposits of pride in his tone as he explains his aspirations in depth. The Foundation has become something, something good. Inspired by his mother’s long and silent plight living beneath the thumb of a sick, abusive man, Zuko took his father’s business of hedging and funding and created a charitable side to it.

Shelters for women. Low-income housing. Clean-up projects that help homeless up and off the streets. Everyone who’s a part of the Foundation is a part of its goals; he doesn’t accept anything less after the selfish destruction his father left for the family.

Katara’s eyes are beautiful and bright as she listens. She prods him with her elbow to encourage him, grips his leg tightly when she excitedly ask questions. She even seems interested when he casually mentions the Christmas Gala, put on to raise money for a new shelter being built in the spring. Zuko makes a note to formally invite her; he’s been unsuccessfully looking for a date to the event.

But, their food comes by the time they’ve exhausted the subject, and he sets it aside for the moment. They move on to stories from her childhood and all the embarrassing, horrendous things he can use against Sokka. Zuko tells her a bit about his sister, about the torture they used to inflict on one another until Iroh got a hold of them.

“We’re better now,” he informs her. “She does the fundraising for the women’s programs, which leads to the occasional bickering, but she’s really good at it.”

A chuckle builds around a mouthful of noodles, then Zuko adds, “She could convince a priest donating his soul to the devil is a good cause.”

“God, I’d love to meet her. She’ll probably get on with Sokka, too.”

“Oh! No! Do not put them in the same room together.”

“You like your soul too much?”

“Yeah! And my car, my apartment— you let Sokka _and_ Azula get after us together, and we’ll be left with nothing. Not even the clothes on our backs.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Her eyes flicker with mischief.

“Hey, when you got it, you got it.”

Katara snorts right as she shovels chicken into her mouth. Her fork clatters on the plate and she ducks away from him, her chortle blooming into full blown laughter that she tries to hide behind her hand.

“You’re terrible!” she protests, swatting him blindly as tears come to her eyes.

“Too cocky?”

“Too _corny!”_

Smiling, Zuko extends his napkin to her, then what’s left of his wine. Katara takes both, wiping beneath her lashes and washing down her food. When she’s settled again, his drink returned to him, he drapes an arm behind her.

“Is it a no, then? To a second date with me?”

He feels his blood heat when she looks up at him.  

“No.” Her gaze softens, more open and tender than he’s seen from her yet— until he feigns dejection and Katara’s panics. “I- I mean no, it’s a yes!” She scrambles, grabbing the hand that’s in his lap. “No, you’re wrong; it’s a yes. I’d like to go out with you, again.”

Unable to resist, Zuko leans in and leaves a chaste kiss on her cheek.

* * *

Zuko walks her back to the hospital. They move slowly this time around, stuffed full of tiramisu and whipped cream, and… not at all ready to part ways. When they get to her car, Katara offers him a ride to his office, and when they arrive there, he doesn’t hesitate to invite her up.

“We recently remodeled the place,” he explains in the elevator. “It used be all grungy and bland. I wanted windows everywhere, exposed brick, and natural wood. My—”

“Like your apartment?” she slyly interjects.

“Except my wife didn’t pick this place out. My mom helped me design it, actually.”

“Dammit. I was so looking forward to another fancy shower.”

The doors slide open to a dark floor. Taking Katara’s hand, he leads her past Haru’s usual spot at reception and uses his keycard to access the main office. The lights are motion-activated; they flick on as they step into the open space, illuminating their reflections in the expanse of windows and glass dividers.

He smiles at the impressed look on her face.

“I like the office to feel like a community. The accountants are grouped here, then we have HR and marketing.” Zuko points out some desk pods, shows off the fish bowl of a conference where he sat that morning, and tugs her by a niche for the copier and mail drop.

A few private offices line the hall to the kitchen, still very open with glass walls against the walkway. More lights stutter to life, and those in the kitchen bounce off white tile and stainless countertops.

Zuko lets her explore while he opens the fridge. “Do you want another glass of wine? A beer?”

There’s an explosion of excitement and he turns around, beer in hand, to find Katara squealing over the espresso machine. The screen illuminates under her touch and the inner workings hum as she scrolls through the options. “ _Oo!_ A mocha? I can make that?!”

“It’ll make whatever you want, I think.” He pops the cap on his beer before joining her.

Katara slides a mug under the spout, making her final selection and watching with rapt delight as espresso, milk, and chocolate pour out. Her hands clasped under her chin, Zuko can’t help but grin at her— she’s easy to impress, and not in a negative way. She’s just… easy.

Fuck, he should really think of a better way to describe the woman he wants to date regularly.

His brows furrow slightly. _Regularly._ Whatever happened to no commitment? And nevermind his wavering mind, what will she think?

The machine splutters as it finishes her drink and Katara claps, taking the mug in both hands.

“I guess I’ll have to give this a try,” Zuko says, almost absently.

“Not a big coffee drinker?”

“No, no I am.” He manages to shake his thoughts. A smile returns to his lips. “I just have my own in my office.”

“You do not. Show me,” she insists. “Right now.”

They tour the rest of the floor, stopping by Azula’s favorite nook and an alcove for quick breaks, before he finally takes her to his own space.

It’s a sizable office, with room enough for his desk, bookshelves, and a sitting area where he entertains his sister and mother far more often that the businessmen he _should_ be humoring. But, it’s a system that works for him, a wonderful reprise from his long work days; the leather sofa will always remain his favorite place.

Alongside it, there are two arm chairs with a coffee table between them. The grey and tan fabrics are complemented by tones of cream and white, with a useless throw blanket and some blue hydrangeas brought in from his mother’s flower shop. She splashed pink throughout with peonies and roses, insisting a hint of femininity was needed in the case of a lady friend.

Zuko’s grateful for her teasing, now.

Aside from his mother’s touches, the remainder of Zuko’s office is modern. The glass surrounding them frosts at the touch of a button, offering unnecessary privacy. Lamps keep the room well lit, but inviting. On the wall above his desk— the only wall that’s not made of glass— he has pictures of Azula, his mother, and Uncle, and an empty space where a wedding portrait once hung.

Dumping his shoulder bag in its place behind his desk, Zuko points out the very espresso machine that piqued her interest.

“Unfortunately, it’s a bit smaller, which means less capacity for mochas.”

Katara murmurs mild disapproval, poking a few buttons on the screen until her disappointment is confirmed, then meanders around the other areas of his office.

Zuko studies her movements, leaning comfortably on the edge of his desk, happy to admire her absent smile and thoughtful humming and the sensual way her hips sway when she walks. She nurses her coffee at the same pace he sips his beer—like they’d both hate for this evening to conclude. She twirls the end of her ponytail around her fingers, and closes her eyes to smell the flowers.

When they flutter open, Katara focuses on him. The light blue petals are a close match to her irises, but it’s not the color that makes his heart leap from his chest.

Katara looks so content. It’s hard to believe it’s because of him.

“I love it,” she remarks. “I’m jealous, actually. The whole floor is great, but this…” Katara sinks onto the sofa, stilettos thunking to the floor as she curls her legs beneath her lithe frame, and admires the sprawling city. “I could get used to this.”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

“Is that an invitation to visit?”

“You would be a far lovelier interruption than most.”

Dimming the lights in his office, Zuko ditches his beer on his desk and settles beside her. She deposits her coffee mug on the table and sidles up against his rib cage when he curls an arm around her. His hand glides up her legs when she drapes them over his lap, stopping just beneath the hem of her dress.

Goosebumps form on her thigh, but her attention wavers from his touch.

Zuko doesn’t blame her. The view is stunning.

Without the warm incandescents bouncing off the glass, the city sprawls out before them: crawling tail lights and changing traffic stops, late night workaholics and blinking cell towers. The stars are impossible to find, but Katara watches with curious attentiveness as planes circle the distant night sky, waiting to land.

And he watches her. Secretly. As surreptitiously as he can.

If it weren’t for the hammering of his heart, the tightness in his chest, he might try to make conversation, ask her about the places she’s been or wants to visit, pry for more details about her family. He doesn’t know a thing about her dad, or her mother. And, he met Sokka and Suki drunk in a bar.

But, his mouth is dry and for once in his life, Zuko decides the silence is a good thing. For once, he listens to the voice that sounds suspiciously like his uncle’s and recognizes that if they’re comfortable and quiet enough to simply enjoy the other’s company, they’ll have a smooth go of it.

That if they’re comfortable and quiet and he’s dying to kiss her…

He should go for it.

Her lips are... Full. Warm. _Enchanting._

Zuko already knew that. But, with the daze of alcohol gone, without the heated rush to get under her and watch her ride him, he focuses on everything little thing he likes about them.

They’re as soft as he imagines angels’ wings to be. Her tongue is velvet. She’s playful and bold, coaxing him to taste whatever lingers on her breath. Her mouth is sweet, like candy; her chapstick has something like cherry or raspberry in it. Zuko’s stomach twists at the prospect of pink lips stains left on his skin: a fleeting reminder when he’s home that this really happened.

“I kinda like you,” he blurts before he can stop it, caught in a breathless pause with his nose bumping hers.

Katara rests a hand on his chest, the other looped behind his neck. “Just kinda?”

“Okay. A lot. More than I should probably.”

That garners a smile. Her mouth is back on his, eager and enthusiastic.

Still, there’s something different… something unique about this kiss. Zuko attributes it to the lack of lust in it. Sure, the sexual tension, the attraction is hovering between them, but he wants to _kiss her;_ that’s his sole motivation. He wants to feel her shiver, wants to hear her hum between inhalations. He wants to wind her ponytail up his hand and cradle her chin with the other.

Katara’s addictive, too, just as he remembers. He can’t get enough. She chases his tongue. She sighs at the lingering flavor of chocolate and rum. She coaxes happy little moans from his chest by running her fingers through the top of his cropped hair.

And of course, even without any intention, the slow, meandering samples he steals from her mouth burn up quickly.

Zuko saw it coming— the way her breath hitches delightfully, her fingers find his lapel— it’s still a wonderful surprise when it arrives.

Insatiable and insistent, Katara pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders, her fingers leaving goosebumps as they follow the coat down his arms. Zuko struggles free of it, grumbling at the cuff links when they catch and finally flailing from it desperately. He’s urgent to follow her down, to hike up her dress and settle in the warmth between her legs.

Katara tilts her head and he chases the pulse in her neck. Her fingers work his tie loose, then she scrambles for his belt.

He helps her with the former, finding the willpower to lift his weigh; Zuko groans at her frustrated whine, the sound going straight to his cock. The tie lands beside his coat and he lets her work on his dress shirt alone, freeing his hands to push her dress to her waist and tug her lace panties down.

“Not even going to undress me properly?” she teases him, eyes flashing bright and blue in the almost-dark. Her skin glows in the light from the city, making her look ethereal, stunning.

Despite her protests, her hips lift to assist him, hovering over the leather cushions. She brings her ankles together and Zuko has her panties off.

“I could say the same.”

He winks as he strips from his dress shirt. The white tee underneath will have to stay: precious time wasted. Or something. She _did_ make him miss her, miss this, so desperately over their three days spent apart. Taking the time to push his pants and boxers down his thighs is too much, already.

For both of them.

Fingers wrapped in his tee, Katara spreads her legs wider. Zuko cups her ass and pulls her flush to him, drapes her over his legs and starts a tortuous grind.

“Oh,” he exhales through his teeth, enraptured by her heat, “I missed you.”

Katara’s eyes, half closed and heavy with want, follow the path of her fingers down his body. She holds the hem of his shirt up, tilts her head to watch his cock—flushed red and leaking cum—slide between her lips.

Her purr is villainous. “I can tell.”

She runs her feet up the back of his calves, until her heels press into his thighs. Her intention is clear, and with nowhere else to go, with no way to resist her soft, _“but, wouldn’t you rather fuck me, Charming?”_ Zuko lets his weight fall forward and pins her under him, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Fuck, yes.”

His teeth scrape her skin with a hiss. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, keeps his thrusts short and shallow. When he finally returns his hand to her hip, Katara is shaking and whimpering and her cunt is so beautifully hot and drenched.

It would be so easy to become lost like this, groaning at the warmth wrapped around him, shuddering at the consuming heat she soaks him in.

Zuko savors the draw back, controls the urge to fuck her wildly when he thrusts back in, grinding once her hips are flush with his. He listens to her body, to the tension in her limbs and the stammering beat behind her ribs; Zuko sets his pace to it, hard, sharp thrusts that made the sofa creak and Katara peak above the cushion.

Everything’s perfect; _she’s_ perfect. Even if this wasn’t something right out of his dreams, fucking a gorgeous woman in his office, it’s pure insanity how amazing she is. She mewls for him, like his cock is the best she’s had in ages. She claws his shirt up to his ribs, scrapes her nails down his skin and grips his ass. She meets every thrust with an enthusiasm that surprises him, even shocks him. She winds up and up and up—

He stops.

And her cries stop, giving way to confusion when he breaks away from a wild kiss and grimaces.

“Shit.”

“What?”

Zuko tries adjusting, starts moving again. This can’t be happening, not when they’re both so close to the edge. _“Fuck._ No.” He sags on top of her, barely able to contain a whimper. “The pasta.”

Annoyance, even admonishment, is what he expects. But, what he gets? A completely adoring laugh.

“Didn’t your sister warn you?” Katara flattens a hand on his lower back, a signal to hold still while she plants her feet on the sofa for leverage and swivels her hips beneath him. “No pasta or you’ll cramp?”

“She said no pasta if I planned to take you home.” A quiet breath shakes from him. It may not be the friction he wants, but her movements feel divine. “And, I honestly didn’t.” He could stay just like this, kissing her collarbone, shifting lower to suck a nipple through her dress.

“Fair enough, but you had to know we’d end up like this.”

“I tried not to get my hopes up.”

She laughs, but quickly fade to a moan. Zuko slides his hands under her butt, cupping the supple curves as he uses his grip for leverage. They rock together slowly, with Katara rolling her hips up into his to keep a steady rhythm going—it’s a relentless edging that pulls them right to the brink.

Right… right there. He’s so close, his balls ache.

“Baby.”

Zuko trembles at the nickname, at the fingers that bruises his lower back. Every fiber in Katara’s body is taut, like strings on a violin pulled to their final point of tension. Her breaths are short and quick, closer to whining gasps than anything.

“Please. Baby.”

“Yeah?” He snaps his hips. “Come on, Kat.”

And that’s all it takes: three staccato beats, everything he can manage, for those strings to break. Katara quakes under him, a symphony of his name and broken pleas cascading from her lips. She somehow keeps moving, keeps him blissed out and painfully edged.

Pure heaven slinks down his spine and fills him. His cock twitches and hot cum fills her. Zuko moans, closing his eyes, and lets Katara milk him.

* * *

It takes… an exorbitant amount of strength to lift his head from Katara’s chest, and even then, Zuko isn’t keen on moving much. She’s all but memorized the slope of his back, the dips between each rib; her fingertips mark pleasant trails on his skin. He’s completely and utterly content.

But, there’s an affectionate peace in her eyes that makes his effort worth it.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Zuko braces himself on his elbows, brushing damp hair away from her face. He leaves a shy kiss on the tip of Katara’s nose, barely fighting the sappier urges building in his chest. “You tired?”

She nods.

“Do you want to go? You can stay at my place tonight.”

“How far are you? I have to be back at the hospital in…” Katara arcs her neck, looking around the office. “What time is it?”

Zuko clicks the button on his watch. “Almost midnight.”

“ _Ugh._ Five hours.”

“That’s rough… but I guess it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kept you so late.”

He pulls away with a dejected sigh, slumping on the opposite end of the couch and semi-redressing. He only fixes his pants and smooths his tee; the more stifling items, he leaves on the floor. “I’m a quick walk from here, if you decide to stay. An even shorter drive,” he adds, remembering her car in the building’s garage. “But, I understand if you want to go home.”

“It’s closer than my place. I live passed the University… and I can’t say I mind the walk of shame.”

Katara sits up to collect her panties, then slips into her heels and straightens her dress as she stands.  She combs flyaways back into her ponytail and plays with the tangles at the end. Even rumpled from sex, she looks stunning.

“My friends will be even more curious about you if I show up in last night’s clothes.” Looking over her shoulder at him, she squints. “But, I hope you know this doesn’t count as eating me on your desk and then fucking my ass.”

“I was saving that for the third date,” Zuko deadpans. “You’ll want to prep properly.”  

She blinks, mouth open— only to recover quickly, as he’s come to expect with her. “And you’ll want to prep properly before I fuck yours.”

Zuko laughs, throws his head back and laughs.

“Fourth date,” he decides, getting to his feet with his tie, dress shirt, and suit jacket in hand. A palm on her back, he kisses her cheek before sweeping by her to collect his shoulder bag and keys. “But, we have to survive our second, first.”

“Oh? Do you something particularly wild planned? Chains? Whips?”

“ _Eh,_ the ol’ ball-n-chain, if you want to call it that.”

That finally catches Katara by surprise.

Zuko gives her a cheeky grin as they leave his office, meandering back down the hall towards reception. “Azula wants to meet you on Saturday,” he explains. “She’s proposing to her girlfriend soon, so naturally, she needs a ring. She thought a woman’s eye would be more helpful than mine.”

Her entire face lights up. “Oh, that’s exciting!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I…” Zuko shrugs as they step into the elevator, selecting the floor for the bridge to the parking garage. “I didn’t know if it’d be weird or not. It feels serious… my sister, and then… all the rings.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be hoping _you’ll propose,_ ” she smirks, taking his hand in both of hers, “but I see what you mean. If you don’t want me to meet Azula, I don’t have to. We can keep things as they are, Zuko.”

He nods to buy himself some time. Time to think, to mull it over. Zuko knows Katara is serious. If he wants this to remain a casual, sexual thing, she’s happy with it. However, the implication that she’s comfortable with… _(slight?)_ commitment hangs in the air. He wonders how to deal with that, how to address what he wants without scaring her off.

The elevator reaches their floor and he steps out, leading Katara towards the garage.

“I want you to meet her,” he says. “She’s my best friend and she… she knows a lot about me, knows that…” Zuko stalls, in his words and in their walk. He recognizes the risk he’s about to take, debates pushing through it anyway.

Katara turns to face him fully, her hands in his, her expression patient and attentive. That wins him over fully.

“I’ve been happier in this last week than I have been in a long time.”

“Me too.”

“I want this to continue, Katara, and... I’m only interested in you.”

She swings their hands between them, blushing. And, again, more quietly, “Me too.”

A smile creeps up on him, his nerves abated. Then, exhilaration sweeps through him and he breaks the distance between them, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a hug. The display may be too much, but with her, Zuko realizes he doesn’t have to worry. She’s already accepted parts of him he’d sooner keep secret; if she’s that open to the rest of him, he’ll fall hard and fast and—

For once, he won’t keep his feelings hidden.

“Come on.” Leaving a kiss on top of her head, Zuko resumes their walk to her car. “Let’s get you tucked in bed, Doctor.”

Her laugh is luminous. “Call me that again and we won’t be sleeping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t even remember the smut week prompts lmao, but given that this is a porn w/ feelings story, you can count on a good amount of smut. however, my focus was on developing zuko and katara this time around, and showcasing azula and zuko’s relationship. 
> 
> but, hopefully, you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. leave a review. 
> 
> (if you see an errors: spelling, missing words, etc., please don't hesitate to point them out! i try to catch everything, but i generally suck)


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